An Omen for Coldness
by MANAGEyourDAMAGE
Summary: My first story EVER! So be kind with criticism:oP Here's my rendition of the trip Nny will take in Issue #8 of JTHM.


_'Dear Die-ary,_

_The passions that drive us should be the ones we respect and admire.  To feel contempt for one's own motivations is a vulgar thing.  Too often, it seems, I've succumbed to less than admirable compulsions driven by this furiously reprehensible machine of mine.  So many things inside that I can do without-desires and urges and whatnot.  So extraneous.  By the time I write in this book again, I hope to be as cold as the moon that lights this page.' * _

And with that, Johnny closed his die-ary, and placed it into the glove compartment of his beat up car.

"I'm on the cusp of something major…", he muttered to himself ominously, sliding into the driver's seat.  "This…this is the beginning of a NEW JOHNNY.  Yes!"  Getting louder now.

"A new, improved, COLD Johnny.  This clear night is an omen.  A metaphor for how blank and barren my palette of emotions shall be!  No clouds of feelings to muck up my psyche!  A perfect organic machine!"

Busy in his rant, Johnny didn't notice the billowing storm clouds that swept in and smeared the sky with shades of gray and black.  It only took a moment of perplexed contemplation for Johnny to concoct a new rationalization.

"Those storm clouds are an omen!  A metaphor…except now the clouds aren't the _feelings…_they're the _coldness._  Yes…and….um….the stars.  YES!  The _STARS _are the emotions and my darkness engulfs them…BLOCKS THEM!  Like the clouds!  It still works!"

Excited about his new lack of emotions like excitement, Johnny drove down the winding road he had taken up to the cliff.  Of course it didn't take long for Johnny to run out of gas, as practical things such as filling up the tank are not often priorities in his sick, twisted, oddly-shaped head.  The car rolled to a stop in front of an old, disgusting gas station at about 2:03 A.M.

"Out of gas.  My journey has ended before it began because I've run out of gas.  This…this is an omen that I should just give up.  That's it…I'm going to kill myself."  Johnny spoke these words incredibly calmly, as if he had just said 'I'm going to go pick up a carton of milk.' and not just given himself a death sentence.  

"No…this is too major for me to give up on so quickly.  But…suicide…so tempting.  ARGH.  What to do!?"  Just then, he noticed a payphone next to the gas station.  

"A PHONE!  I can call someone to help me decide!"  Johnny sprinted from the car to the phone, picked it up…and then realized he had no friends to call.  He searched his mind but found no voices to talk to.  Where's that drooling MEAT thing?  The raggedy, beat up phonebook that was bolted into the side of the payphone caught Johnny's eye.  He thumbed threw it until he saw a listing for a suicide hotline.  He paused for a moment and wondered if there were any HOMOCIDE hotlines…because that would certainly come in handy in his life.  But that's for another time…he had to deal with the current situation.  He dialed the hotline number, which began ringing despite the fact that Johnny failed to deposit a single coin into the phone.

"Crisis center hotline, this is Tiffany.  You have a lot to live for."

"Umm…thanks.  I'm Nny."

"Hello…Nny.  What's on your mind?"

"Well…I ran out of gas…and now I'm gonna kill myself."

"Because you are out of gas?"

"Yes."

There was a long pause.  You could almost hear the  confusion running over Tiffany's face.

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Why don't you just get more gas."

"You are missing the point.  It's a metaphor.  Me running out of gas is symbolic of my life being drained of all ambition to keep going.  It's an OMEN."

"Umm..then couldn't getting MORE gas, and filling up the tank, be symbolic of you being reborn with a newfound ambition to keep on going?"

"No, that's just stupid."

"But…"

"Filling up a tank with gas isn't an omen.  You're reading way too much into it."

"Where are you going that you ran out of gas?  What was your destination, Nny?"

"My destination…oooo….no clue.  I never really decided.  I just needed to go on a trip."

"Why did you need to go on this trip?"

"I'm trying to become cold."

"Maybe you should go to Canada.  That could be your destination.  You know, to the north…it's cold up there."

"I can't go north!  There might be  polar bears up there!"**

"Look…just…don't kill yourself."

"You're right…I shouldn't kill myself.  Thanks Tiffany!  You've really helped me."

"Really?"

"No, I'm kidding.  You suck."

"Fuck you."

"You are REALLY bad at this."

"Whatever…I totally don't need this right now.  I've got problems of my own, buddy."

"Oh, like?"

"Well, first off…I have to do this stupid job talking to pathetic losers on the phone as community service for running this old lady over one night while I was drunk.  I even got kicked off the cheerleading squad because of it!"

"Cheer…..cheerleading squad?"  Johnny mumbled, stifling a squee of terror.

"Yea!  I was HEAD FUCKING CHEERLEADER.  My parents were so proud…you know…because I would dance around half naked and mock anyone who couldn't equal my level of silicon-based attractiveness!  Hell, I even FUCKED the quarterback…he was the prom king.  My mom was so proud…she was the same way when she was in high school…"

"Ah…a family tradition of vile behavior…"  Johnny wondered if he could somehow stick a knife THROUGH the phone, into her ear.  Maybe if he concentrated hard enough…

"…and then I got pregnant, and I had to get an abortion…and that stupid jock kept hitting me…and do you know HOW HARD it is to cover those bruises with makeup?  And then that stupid fucking nun had to dent my goddamned BMW with her carcass!  I hadn't even finished the payments!  Can you believe it?"  Tiffany was crying now…upset at the horrible injustice of it all…or something.  I'm not sure…even I'VE stopped paying attention to her.

"Sounds like you have a real rough life…"  Johnny was no longer interesting in ending himself.  He'd found a new reason to live:  hunting down and torturing dear little Tiffany.  

"Yea…it's hard.  It's like…being popular is such a big responsibility.  I mean, clearly I've been given these looks and this money because I'm better than everyone else…it's like a mandate from GOD or something for me to be someone for all the losers of the world to look up to.  *sniff* It's so hard being a role-model…"

"Ah, yes…but this is the life that you have.  I mean…what possible way of avoiding all these responsibilities could there be?"

"I dunno…"

"I mean…sure…suicide would END all that pain.  And just think…everyone who was ever mean to you would feel all bad and remorseful…seeing you there.  All pretty in your casket…"

"Yea…they would feel pretty guilty…"

"Just think of the memorial your high school would build!  Flowers…maybe even a statue!  You'd be immortalized as a role-model for GENERATIONS…your beauty preserved in BRONZE…no…GOLD!  And you'd never have to DO anything again..the responsibility would be gone, and yet you would continue to better mankind with your superiority!"

"You're right Nny!  *sniff* *sob* "  With that, Johnny heard commotion on the phone, and a smashing of glass.  Various screams were heard in the background of whatever office this hotline was based out of.  "Oh my god, she jumped out the window!"  "Dear god she's been impaled on that picket fence!"  "Hey, I can see up her skirt."  "Really?"  "Wow…she had a nice ass."

Johnny hung up the phone and frolicked back to his car, to fill it up with unleaded.  The pump worked without money of course.  He slid into the driver's seat with a huge grin on his face.  Catching his eyes in the rearview mirror, he complimented himself.   "You are SO FUCKING GOOD at what you do!  It's scary, really…"  He started the car and pulled forward.  

"Hmm…Canada.  Why not?  Canada…here I come…FUCK YOU fucking polar bears!"

He drove off in the direction of the nearest highway.

_*(Johnny the Homicidal Maniac #7, by Jhonen Vasquez)_

**from Jeri the soulpariah!  XOXO


End file.
